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The night wind that rushes through the belly of a plane in flight with its exit doors thrown wide is like nothing else. Biting, roaring, it'd be almost deafening if not for the prominantly louder twin props, the engines straining as the old aircraft's pilot dives her low with a practiced hand. She's running dark, all but invisible as she splits the clouds— on her flightpath tonight, a midair collision, properly warning air traffic control… these things are minor concerns. It's all relative. The freighter looming large below is lit periodically across its deck, split by ports and lashed cargo, and patrolled by men with an ample supply of Cold War hardware— the transport plane has only pulled level in the final moments of its approach when her underbelly is spotlighted by halogens underslung accompanying assault rifles, a spray of weapons fire accompanying the lightshow courtesy of ample muzzle flash below.

Wolverine had already been holding Kitty's hand perhaps a little -too- tightly on that dive, his other fist clenched hard around an 'oh /shit/' handle convenient to the open doorway, eyes focused beneath tightly knit brow on the dark chop of the seas below, as much as their target. He /hates/ flying, okay? In that last moment, though, he's on the ball: there's a nod to her, and he throws himself out the open door, likely in tandem with Shadowcat. It's like they've done exactly this kind of crazy shit before, or something. When you uncover a mass export of indigent, likely of the metahuman variety, that's tightly controlled at the one side of the exchange you /know/ about? Well, then a soul's got to improvise. His timing is impeccable, judgement of velocity practiced; like we said, /too/ practiced. Carrying powerful signal jammers, the mission is deceptively simple. Hit the transport mid-route and take her black; the onboard nav computers should tell them everything they need to know about step two. One damn thing at a time is enough, at times like this.

For her own part, Kitty keeps Logan's hand firmly in her own as the stand near that biting, rushing, whipping wind buffeting about them through the open doors. While Logan has most likely done this far more than Kitty, the young mutant doesn't seem to be quite as tense about throwing herself out of a plane as he is. Either she's not as afraid of heights as he is, or she simply trusts his judgement that they'll come out of this fine. Despite his strength, she doesn't seem to mind him holding onto her with a bit of a crushing grip.

At just the right time, Wolverine tosses himself out of the plane and just behind him is Kitty. This is the part that actually starts to panic her. The timing, the waiting for the parachute release. She is not as practiced or perfectly timed with her own release, but it's close enough that she's not far behind Logan as they sail down toward the ship in order to take care of the mission.

Despite undertaking a stunt that makes most base jumps look tame, Logan doesn't bother to properly deploy the high-tech chutes that enable their assault. Instead, the old mutant waits until the last moment, drawing largely errant fire through the descent and using the updraft snared by his late deployment to carry him that extra handful of feet, claws snapping him free of the straps to drop the last span into the midst of a group of guards. There are six men on the deck, initially, and the Wolverine cuts that number in half in the instants in which battle is joined, snapping through several precise strokes and dumping two of those so-maimed harshly overboard before too much of a ruckus can be made by the sudden screams.

The handful of bullet wounds peppering his black-and-grey sneaksuit close swiftly, even as Logan stalks low between the barriers on the deck, deploying the jammer inside a vent, nice and out of the way-like. "Not so much of a quiet entrance." The observation is more neutral than in any sense concerned, perhaps even a little bit darkly amused. "They'll be pourin' out onto the deck and fortifyin' the stairs to keep us out, give it a good ten count and you should be able to drop right in behind 'em, darlin'." The murmur in Kitty's ear? /Definitely/ still darkly amused. People like this make Wolverine glad to be in the business he's in, let's be fair. The Whitetips likely already smell the blood in the water around the suddenly doomed vessel.

Men with weapons do not normally concern Kitty. Already, she and her parachute phase to ensure any bullets aimed at her will pass straight through. It seems like a gentle glide to the deck of the ship, but that momentum ends with a crumple on the floor. This is a crucial part of the jump, as she must remain solid if she's to stay on the deck with Wolverine. Luckily, Logan has timed his own assault to give the Shadowcat enough cover to unclip from the parachute and phase through it just about when he asked her to.

The billows of the parachute continue to catch in the breeze of the moving ship, but Kitty does not need to pay them any mind. Reaching behind her, she unsheathes the katana from her back, the blade not slicing throught he parachute in her phased form. Through one particularly heavy gust of wind, the parachute drifts upward and she charges through it. With her sword catching in silver flashes in the night, she takes care of whoever may be left that Wolverine hasn't already finished.

Contrarily, Shadowcat -is- something of a concern for men with guns. Even when the last gunman tries to blow them both to smithereens with a frag grenade, he accomplishes nothing but charring a section of newly shorn ship, and abruptly checking out himself; Pryde isn't even likely to get messy. It's enviable— not as much as the complete lack of taking the wounds in the first place, though, in the Wolverine's book. It's why he takes out the last quietly, quickly, impaling the gunman through the back as he rather roughly clasps the slaver's mouth closed. It's all over in a moment, but Logan was right: the alarm was raised. All that gunfire, the roar of the engines, the radios calling out unanswered concern on each member of the fallen patrol.

In just a moment, not a one is answering, and the next stage in the prophecy unfolds: the rest of the crew, mobilized and armed, begins to deploy to defend the access points to the deck, pinning Logan down as he sprints and tumbles from one section of cover to the other. It's likely the aggression-drawing maneuver is quite intentional, the nod back towards Kitty's position subtle, as is the second below. Staying on the deck with him only does them so much good, after all. He maintains the pace of their lightning assault by leaving that cover moments later, charging into a hail of gunfire with a gutteral roar.

As the woman approaches the last man with the frag grenade, she keeps herself phased and doesn't even feel anything as the grenade explodes right at her feet. What she does do, though, is use an arm to cover her eyes against the flash. While she may be able to let shrapnel and explosions pass through her, the light will still hurt her eyes. When she opens them again, the deck is clear.

For a few moments.

As the alarm sounds, Kitty moves against some cover. Though she can't really be shot like this, she also doesn't need to draw more attention to herself. At the look Logan gives her, she opens her mouth to say something, but it's too late. Much like always, the Wolverine has charged right into the face of danger without a second thought. With a sigh, Kitty takes a breath and then sinks through the boards of the deck onto the next floor.

Once she's dropped down, she quickly presses against a wall, looking every which way to ensure that she's alone. As she does so she mutters, "We could have both done this, you know." Even though she knows that though Logan may have extreme hearing, he most likely can't hear her from where he is.

Kitty's poor eyes; it's probably lucky her partner-in-explosion isn't able to input as to relative discomfort. Then again, maybe her still-present discomfort wins her that score; perspective is kind of a bitch. Sure, Kitty probably could've dropped them both down through the floor; and sure, it would probably be all the ambush they'd ever need. There's a perfectly servicable one going down even as she hits floor below, though— unsurprisingly, even the persistent fire does little to keep Wolverine from reaching the doorway, and the secondary team intent on barricading it? Well, they're bracing reinforced steel bulkheads that might as well be butter, given their adversary.

This leaves the entire team deployed facing -away- from Kitty's landing point on the deck below— even if she weren't a ninja, the initial stalk would be child's play. Guns are trained up that stairwell, calls of alarm passed down it amidst the screech of metal; then two men falling in a painful tumult with what looks like around half of the aforementioned doorway. It's definitely not the first time— Kitty is rather wise to expect her partner-in-anticrime to be, well.. a little gung-ho.

Despite the danger of the mission, Kitty can't help but smirk a bit at the relative ease they are able to make it through the ship with minimal communication. It's like they've done this before or something.

With all the attention pointed away from her, Kitty makes her way silently through the ship, attempting to find the control room. It's there that she'll presumably find the computer that will give them more information about the smuggling ring and shut down this ship for good.

Her sword is still positioned defensively in front of her, each step a careful movement in what she thinks is the right direction. She knows that as soon as Logan is finished with the others he'll follow afterward. For now, all she needs to worry about is locating the next part of their mission.

Wolverine might have expected a little help from the rear quadrant— but Kitty's not wrong to conclude that the Canucklehead can handle the hornet's nest he's poked himself. The sounds of it follow Pryde down the corridors, the blueprints she had accessed before the mission limiting the guesswork as to the location of the ship's command center. Most of her soldiers are deployed— and with poor result— around the vessel, so there are only a scattering of rushing operatives between Shadowcat and her target. The last of whom? He's working quickly at the nav computer, trying to remove the data on it.

The thinker of the bunch, apparently. Or not— it won't take much trying before he decides to get creative, and apply the buttstock of his rifle to the hardware. It might not be built to take the abuse— but the poor computer's heroine has arrived! Probably. Here, then there, bouts of gunfire announce Logan's continued progress around the perimeter, securing the hostiles that might converge on Kitty's heartwarming meeting with her priority data.

And were this another mission not involving slavery and Metahumans, perhaps Kitty would be more focused on Wolverine than ensureing the data they're here for is recovered. Howveer there are others that are counting on this information. So, through the hallways she runs, taking care of any threats that don't ignore her.

When she happens upon the man attempting to take out the computer, she quickly moves to intercept, sword moving in quick movements to keep the man from busting up the computer with the butt of his rifle.

Able to stop the man from destroying the computer, Kitty quickly moves to the computer, downloading the information to a handy thumbdrive. As she does so, she keeps a continuous watch behind her to make sure that she is still safe from anyone sneaking up on her.

The only person sneaking up on Kitty is Logan, several minutes later. Her software makes short work of the nav computer and quickly breaks past the less-knowledgable keeper's efforts to obfuscate its truths. Before her partner reappears, Shadowcat will already have remote access to the bridge— along with its distant destination, and a disturbingly long list of cryogenic units, each neatly numbered rather than named. The display in her hands is given a wary look as Wolverine steps up behind her, making little effort to sneak— but remaining all but silent in his approach, nonetheless. None of it surprises him— even if his patrol hadn't confirmed the truth shortly before, his nose already pinpointed the method of transport, to boot. Then again, maybe it's just easier to be stoic than horrified. "Guess we got the right boat." The bloodied berserker pauses to squeeze Pryde to one side and shake his head, "Ain't sailin' great?"